Shadows and Nightmares
by Artful Chicken
Summary: They all thought she'd hit the Loki out of Clint, but they were wrong. A part of Loki remains, embedded forever in Clint's mind, and it's not gonna let him rest anytime soon. Takes place after the movie. May get a little creepy.


**Author's Note: I don't own the Avengers. I just am an absolute fan :) This is my first fic, so please remember to R&R!**

**Take note, it will get a little creepy. How creepy, I won't tell...**

* * *

When Clint came to his senses, he found himself lying on a what felt like a cross between the coldness of concrete and the roughness of blacktop. All around him was pitch-dark, but the area where he was lying was sort of...spotlit?

He propped himself into a half-sitting, half-lying position but realised he couldn't go any further. He looked around him, but the darkness seemed thick, even tangible.

Suddenly, the air felt cold and claustrophobic as he felt someone approaching.

"What am I doing here?" he demanded the thick, tangible darkness.

A slow, eerie laugh filled the air as the person stepped within the radius of the light.

It was him. The same black collared uniform, same slightly-messy brown hair-except Clint was pretty sure his own eyes were grey.

Not glowing ice-blue.

"Yes, what are you doing here, with all these good people? You think you're fighting for the country? Serving the greater good?" he stepped closer and snarled, "Or serving your own selfish purpose?"

"What do you want?!" Clint found it increasingly hard to disguise the shaking in his voice.

"You should know," the projection grinned evilly.

Around him, the soft sound of military footsteps began to grow louder, from a small swishing sound, to the dull thumping noise of an approaching army. Clint tried to get up, to run away from the invisible army, before worse things happened. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn't get up. His legs were stone-dead, and all he could do was sit there, eyes dilating in fear.

"You can't run from them," said the projection.

Then they appeared. Row by row, they surrounded him. Clint recognised them. He saw his parents, some of his fellow agents, civilians he'd ran into on past missions, even old friends from the Iraqi War he'd fought alongside. All of them were just as he'd remembered them-

They were all dead because of him. Each one wore vacant expressions, but their eyes glowed and made the ground around him ripple with blue light, like he was a fish in an aquarium.

They were the demons of his guilt. Some of them died before he could save them, some died as a result of a mass explosion or a shoot-out.

Some, he killed.

He knew all of their faces. Three SHIELD agents had died because he couldn't call the chopper in time. Civilians died from an exploding arrow he'd fired. Soldiers who fell during the Iraqi War. His parents died in a car crash that he should have died from as well. And there were all the targets he'd sniped.

All dead because of him.

Then, an orange light rose from something in the centre, and soon it became clear that someone was making their way to the front.

A little girl stepped out of the ranks, in front of him. Unlike everyone else, flames licked and danced around her body, and her eyes were...empty.

That was the girl. The girl that died in the burning building. The girl whose cries he could hear on quiet nights.

The girl he couldn't save.

"You owe these people, Clint," the projection snarled, "And there's nothing you can do about it. "

Clint surveyed the crowd, the thousands dead, all because of one man.

"I...I'm sorry! There was no way I could prevent it!" Clint panicked. It was true. Nothing could raise these people again.

"Well, obviously," the projection snickered sadistically, notching an arrow, "And now, these people will watch you die in return. "

He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. The projection laughed evilly as the arrow buried itself deep in his stomach, and sent ripples of blue flames licking all over him. He clutched his torso and howled and screamed and...

* * *

Clint sat up in bed, drenched in cold sweat. The bandage around his torso felt wet, and in the darkness of the hospital ward he could make out a dark stain beginning to spread like a black flower. He turned, and found Natasha staring at him quizzically.

"Are you...okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, no problem," he said, hoping he sounded convincing.

"You woke up screaming. That, in your opinion, is okay?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. She clearly wasn't buying it.

"Fine, I had a nightmare," he relented. "I saw...all those people..."his voice began to quiver. He buried his head in his hands. Natasha didn't need him to finish his sentence. After all, she'd been plagued in exactly the same way.

"Look, it's okay. You've done everything you possibly could have done, in a short span of years, to make all of this right. Heck, you've probably righted each of their deaths three times over. You're gonna have to stop kicking yourself for every you make, and move on," she lectured. Then they were silent, he, taking all of this in, and she, realising that in a way she was talking to herself too. She finally broke the silence.

"I should...get breakfast," she said, standing up.

"Yeah. Croissants for me, okay?" he called.

"Okay," she replied quietly. He watched as she disappeared out the door, her slender form shrinking in the dim hall-light.

* * *

**Thanks! Hope y'all didn't get too creeped out :P Please remember to R&R! **


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